


All for Love

by aramisinaskirt (SilverMillennium_QueenNeptune)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis | René d'Herblay-centric, Between Seasons/Series, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendship, Forbidden Love, Inspired by Music, Male-Female Friendship, POV Multiple, Song: Je te Pardonne (Pilule Bleue) (GIMS feat Sia)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMillennium_QueenNeptune/pseuds/aramisinaskirt
Summary: When King Louis takes ill, his dying wish is that his wife and the son he always knew was not his would be protected. He knows that Queen Anne’s heart lies with the father of her bastard, who Louis has falsely claimed as his own to protect her. A desperate message from the queen brings the once exiled Abbe de Herblay, formerly known as the Musketeer Aramis, back to the palace where an unexpected responsibility awaits. Rene is reminded that every choice he has made was for love, but were his sacrifices worth it?
Relationships: Ana de Austria | Anne d'Autriche/Aramis | René d'Herblay, Ana de Austria | Anne d'Autriche/Louis XIII de France, Aramis | René d'Herblay & Constance Bonacieux, Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	All for Love

As the sun rose over Paris, the Abbe de Herblay rose to attend to his duties. Raking a hand through his curls, he found his way to the altar. It was easy for him to find his way to his knees, more for the sake of those he had wronged. Years ago, he had believed all his sins might be undone here, if his repentance was real. But now, when it mattered, the words were lost to him.

He wanted to speak, to beg forgiveness for the life he had abandoned. He’d given in to his own lust for flesh and blood far too many times to be worthy of redemption. He was the last person who belonged in this holy place. The walls seemed to close in on him with each moment that he remained in his chambers. All he desired was to live a quiet and peaceful life. The past was behind him, and now he had devoted himself fully to God and to prayer. This was where he had expected to find happiness. Peace was the closest thing he could achieve, but it did not matter, as long as his brothers and the people he loved were safe.

The choice to lay down his weapons and take up a cross in their place still weighed on his heart. He had abandoned his brothers like a coward. He should have remained on the battlefield where he could be with them. Rene felt that he did not deserve forgiveness for the sin of abandoning the brotherhood that had meant everything to him. As a Musketeer, he had sworn an oath to be there for his brothers in the best and worst of times; all for one and one for all. He was a soldier, an officer with the ability of a military marksman. How dare he believe that his calling here was of any more importance than the work that his fellow Musketeers were doing? They were fighting a war. He stopped himself at that thought, the still and quiet remorse coursing through him. He was here in exile. There was nothing he could do or say that would change that. He had given up everything he had ever known to live a life of contemplation and service to God, the very thing he may have felt was calling him before he gave it all up to be a soldier.

But he had never been an ordinary soldier, no. There was nothing ordinary about him. Just as he wasn’t an ordinary priest. He had become one of the best. His devotion to his duties had never once wavered, the soldier’s mentality of following an order to the letter seared into his memory. There was far too much at stake here for him to consider returning to his old life, but even he was wise enough to recognize it when it tried to creep up on him. He knew that he should put it behind him and return to his prayers. But he could not forget everything that had transpired as he attempted to serve the king. The voices in his mind still haunted him each evening as he remembered the soldiers at war and everything he had seen there. He recalled his kinship with Marsac, a man who he had once called brother in the same way he had done for Athos, Porthos, and D’Artagnan before he left them.

He knew that those pieces would never quite fit. He would never admit aloud that the terrors of Savoy still haunted his dreams to the day. They were likely to do so until he drew his last breath. Clutching his cross desperately, he returned to his knees and began to pray again. Surely, God would hear and surely He would see a desperate man who wanted beyond all reason to be free of his hellish past. A man so desperate for sleep and peace that he had once tried to find it in the arms of many different women; all of whom were beautiful and most of whom had power and influence far above his own. But it was never their power he desired. It was a chance to rest. The opportunity, however slight it may have been, to forget the monster that war had made him, and find a sense of security. He wanted to leave Savoy and the events of those dark days far behind.

 _But, if I was once a Musketeer, how do I dare to call myself anything but a kingsman? I shall always remain loyal to France and to the monarchy. I am still a servant of the King, even if I now serve in a different capacity_. Rene knew himself well enough to know why he had abandoned all that he knew for the abbey; there was too much temptation in remaining close to the palace. That temptation came in a form that he could not resist; one of beauty and grace far beyond his station. The affections of a woman who he would never deserve: Anne of Austria, the queen of France, and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was the reason he was here. He had fallen in love with the wrong woman. She would never love him; her duty and heart belonged to the king and to her people. France and Spain needed their queen. He could not afford to take that away from them. He had missed his old life at court, fleeting though it was. He was barely afforded the opportunity to be there as a soldier of the King. When he was, it was only to fulfill some duty or other. No, he was better here, where he could do more good for the souls of men than risking his life saving them. But now, all he could do was to reflect on his mistakes.

The biggest mistake he had made was not settling down. He had wanted to be loved so desperately that he took love wherever he could find it. One could call it the curse of not knowing exactly where he belonged or what he was meant to do. He had floated between two worlds, torn between devotion to the duty of a soldier and becoming a man of faith. He had left for one very important reason; to rid himself of the temptations of the flesh. They had been a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember, always dragging him from one bed to the next. It never ended. Now, he was filled with guilt and remorse.

There were so many people he had tried and failed to protect. He was only one man, of course, but that was little consolation when he remembered the battles that had killed so many of the men he called friends and fellow soldiers. There was no penance he could pay for failing them. It was too late, and Aramis himself was too far beyond redemption, pray though he might. What use would God have for a man who had given in to his own pleasures so easily? This was the pain of his penance, to live separated from those he had once called brothers and fought alongside. All that he could do was to make certain that it counted for something, no matter the emotional turmoil forced upon him. God would see, and forgive and reward him. He would bury the ghost of Aramis the Musketeer far into the past where he no longer had to think about what that name and creed had cost him. There was nothing left once that was gone except for the haunting memories. There would always be things he wished he could have been or could have said instead of resting on his laurels.

If it had been up to him, he might have thrown convention to the wind. He’d have gone back to the palace and been honest with Louis. To put himself at risk was to be free, but it also meant too great a price for him; the price of seeing the woman he loved hurt yet again by the fact that he had returned when he knew he could not claim her. He had cut Anne to the quick once before, when he offered comfort to the Comtesse de Larroque before her potential death sentence. He had offered her a rosary in the hopes that she would put her trust in God; the same that had been given as a gift to him by Anne.

 _“Brave, noble Aramis.”_ The words echoed around him like a taunt, forcing him back to his knees despite an attempt to stand. The pain of old injuries surged through him, as his lips moved soundlessly.

“. . . Mea culpa. . . Mea culpa. . . Mea maxima culpa. . .” It was his own, most grievous fault.

_God have mercy on my soul, I still love her. I always will. That is my own fault. I am the one who threw it all away._


End file.
